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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144874">the way i am</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsweatspit/pseuds/bloodsweatspit'>bloodsweatspit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blaseball (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Marijuana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:41:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144874</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsweatspit/pseuds/bloodsweatspit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>a night out in miami.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alston Cerveza/Cedric Spliff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Canada Moist Talkers Fanfiction</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the way i am</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>it seems deeply unfair to cedric that alston’s clothes look so good all the time. like, cedric knows he’s a dirty fuckin stoner, he made peace with how often he’s willing to do laundry a long time ago. but it doesn’t seem right that alston is <em>that</em> much better dressed than him. even when he’s at his most blackout, falling-down drunk - even though he <em>owns a fucking ferret</em> - the guy manages to keep his shirt cuffs crisp and his corny velvet blazers spotless.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>the rest of the team is pretty low-key as far as clothes (or cleanliness, for that matter) - mcblase is a pretty sharp dresser, but her job kind of requires it, and she’s not around the field that often anyway. if it weren’t for alston, cedric would feel exactly as comfortable being kinda gross here as he did back in seattle. (he loves how seattle can appreciate kinda gross. wasn’t the home of grunge for no reason.) he isn’t, like, trying to be that way on purpose - it’s just kind of a thing that happens - he stumbles into things, knocks drinks over on himself, steps in deep puddles with brand new shoes. scribbles song ideas on his jeans in ballpoint pen. falls asleep on the couch watching TV and wakes up late for practice and forgets to put on deodorant.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>so really, cedric would feel at home on the talkers in that regard if it weren’t for alston. who somehow fucking smells like some rich guy cologne - cedar, maybe? leather? - even after spending all night with cedric in the kind of bar that still lets people smoke inside. alston, who has very white teeth and can wear a watch (that isn’t a casio) without looking ridiculous.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>cedric figures this is part of how alston pulls off the stories he tells. when a guy smells like fancy cologne and wears a scarf, it’s a lot easier to believe it when he says he owns a global brewing corporation or went to boarding school in luxembourg. personally, cedric has had to rely on charm alone to bullshit others. which - that has its benefits! but also, cedric has noticed how sometimes at away games, alston will go off and rent a room at a totally different hotel than everyone else, somewhere with a name like “the peninsula” or “the whitby” or some shit. and sometimes, cedric would <em>really</em> like to have the kind of life where he could talk his way into that kind of place.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>but mostly he’s okay with being the guy that he is. he wears leather cords wrapped around one wrist and sells oregano to middle-schoolers and has a smile that convinces old ladies to trust him despite themselves. he smells like stale weed smoke, and only owns one set of sheets. cedric learned a long time ago that he’s best off working within the parameters of what he’s capable of.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>they’re in miami when alston calls cedric one night, well after the game’s ended and they’ve gone back to the hotel, and says, “what are you doing tonight?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“same shit as always, man.” cedric laughs. “gonna get some takeout, maybe watch shitty hotel TV.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“you should come hang out with me instead.” cedric is starting to detect a hint of a slur in alston’s voice - nothing major, just the ends of a couple words lopping themselves off. cedric gets these calls pretty regularly now that he’s been on the team awhile. he gets the sense that none of the other adults are willing to go out as often as him; back in seattle, abbott used to tell him all the time that he was “a textbook case of arrested development”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>it’s not like he has anything better to do, so he says, “yeah, where should i meet you?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston gives him the name of a hotel out in miami beach, surprisingly far from where the rest of them are staying (and alston theoretically should be). after they hang up, cedric opens the window and sticks his head out to test the weather. it’s still humid and sticky-hot, even with the sun down and the wind off the ocean. he dunks his head in the sink and changes his shirt before heading out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>when he gets there, cedric steps into the hotel lobby, takes one look around, and steps right the fuck back outside to light a joint and pace away from the doors. the place is full of angular blond wood architecture and precisely curved modern furniture. the art on display is exactly incomprehensible enough that rich people will love it. he texts alston: <em>Im here come down now</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston strides out the lobby doors a couple minutes later (sans ferret). it’s muggy enough that even he’s foregone long pants; instead, he’s wearing pastel linen shorts and a matching jacket with a crisp white shirt beneath. cedric does not understand how it’s possible for someone’s top two shirt buttons to be undone in a way that looks <em>more</em> precise than if they’d been done up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>cedric is wearing foam-and-rubber flip flops, along with a t-shirt from monstera’s old side project, which he realizes at this exact moment has a hole in the armpit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston beams and waves vigorously as he approaches. cedric coughs, moves his joint to his other hand, and waves with the arm that doesn’t have a shirt armpit hole.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>they start the night at the bar of a <em>different</em> hotel. alston orders a bottle of wine for himself and overfills his glass; cedric orders a daiquiri and sips it in between long slugs of water. for a moment it’s awkward as both of them stare into space - it always is at first - and then cedric blurts out, “why do places that try to be fancy upholster the walls? it’s kinda tacky as shit, right?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston blinks a few times, then bursts out laughing as he registers the massive tufted leather cushions on the bar’s walls. “you know,” he says, “i really don’t have a clue. it is tacky though, isn’t it?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>cedric shakes his head in mock disappointment. “rich people, man. y’all can’t buy taste.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“excuse me? i have <em>impeccable</em> taste.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“then why‘re you hanging out with my bum ass?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>cedric laughs a bit too loudly at his own joke; alston laughs too, but more quietly, before lifting his glass and draining half of it in one go. cedric says, “really though. are rich people this fuckin’ tacky everywhere?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>he knows this is, technically, baiting - the question is impossible for alston to answer without lying or spinning some tall tale in response - but it’s hard for him to feel guilty about it. besides, alston really is a good storyteller. he has this sense of how to pace his stories for whoever’s listening. cedric’s seen this in action - watched him tell the same basic narrative, about busting a trafficking ring in belgium, to half a dozen different strangers. each time the story was different in major details, and each listener <em>totally loved it</em>. thought alston was some sort of FBI superhero or tortured vigilante or whatever. if cedric didn’t believe the lying was all just a compulsion, he’d think alston was some kind of sociopath. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>sure enough, alston takes the question as a launch pad. he starts by talking about how dubai has the tackiest rich people in the world, diverts briefly onto the subject of why he’s “been bored of art basel for years now”, and finally moves into a story proper about accidentally befriending a major narcotics dealer in a casino in belize. cedric pokes at some of the story’s holes - “wait, he really let you see all that? i thought you said no one but his bodyguards had ever been in there?” - but mostly for the fun of watching alston figure out on the fly how to make everything cohere. even now that he’s the team’s star hitter, <em>this</em> is clearly alston in his element.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>at one point the waitress stops by; alston confers with her briefly, then asks cedric, “another drink?” in the casual manner of an alcoholic who is definitely <em>not</em> pressuring you to have another drink, just inquiring out of curiosity. cedric shrugs and asks for a margarita. when the waitress has left, alston says, “right, where was i - oh! yes, the butler had just wrapped me in one of the mansion’s tiger skin rugs, and was loading me into the van - “ cedric bites the inside of his cheek and grins, leaning back into the deep plush of his chair.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>not long after, plates of food begin to show up - shrimp cocktail, a crab cake topped with greens the size of cedric’s pinky nail, tuna tartare, lobster bisque. alston manages to somehow keep talking while gesturing for cedric to eat <em>and</em> taking neat little bites of everything himself, washing them down with swigs of wine. cedric is reminded a little bit of hunter s thompson’s supposed daily routine. the tuna is so rich it almost tastes like steak; the room is lit with candles, making alston’s skin glow gold and copper. he has <em>ridiculously</em> high cheekbones. cedric swallows the last of his drink, coughs, and says, “i’ll be right back, i gotta piss.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>the men’s room attendant is well-disciplined enough not to bat an eyelash at his appearance. cedric steals a handful of mints on the way out but leaves a ten-spot for the dude.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>on his way back to the table, alston intercepts him. “i’ve already settled the bill - shall we move along?” cedric turns around and ambles out with him into the swampy night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>they walk to the next hotel bar. cedric rolls and smokes another joint as they go, offering it to alston between every few hits. alston takes it a couple times; his fingertips brush cedric’s as they trade the pinched end back and forth. the white and pastel buildings they pass look like ghosts against the shoreline. cedric is sweating so hard his t-shirt sticks to his back. at the next bar, he orders a beer and drinks it rapidly, for the crisp coldness more than anything else. alston watches from the corner of his eye and follows suit. they move on to tiki drinks after that - cedric’s theory is <em>when in rome, party as the romans do. </em>they talk about nothing: the weather, the terrible band playing at the other end of the bar. they attempt to rank various tropical fruits from best to worst and get into a cheerfully loud argument about coconut. alston says he wants to learn how to make cocktails at home - “i always order them, i’m too lazy at home to make anything fancy.” cedric points out a middle-aged couple dancing off-beat to the band’s already off-beat music and says, “if we’re talking hobbies, i’m gonna learn to salsa dance. i’m gonna move exactly like that guy. that’s my goal.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston laughs. “well you’ve got <em>that</em> down already.” cedric pretends to pout and knocks his elbow into alston’s bicep. “have i ever told you i used to salsa dance? it’s been a long time since my competition days, but i probably remember a few steps.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“oh really?” cedric grins. “i’ve probably had enough drinks to give it a shot...”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>”well...” alston skips half a beat, smiles back. “go have a smoke first.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>cedric can tell when he’s being diverted, but he doesn’t care about the joke enough to push the subject (and anyway he’s pretty much confirmed that alston cannot, in fact, do even a few salsa steps.) as he steps outside, he enjoys the abrupt change from dry cool air to damp and warm. on one side of the sky, the lights of miami shimmer; on the other side, a few pale stars are scattered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>he’s just finished rolling when he feels warm breath on his neck. “boo,” alston whispers. cedric jumps and nearly snaps the joint clean in half.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“shit! fuck! don’t do that, man!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“my apologies!” (he doesn’t sound terribly sorry.) “ready to move on?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>cedric shrugs and lights up. “lead the way, dude.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston takes more of the offered hits this time; he bends over and starts coughing so hard it sounds like he’s going to throw up and whips out a fucking <em>handkerchief</em> to cough into. cedric pats his shoulder hesitantly. when alston straightens up, his moustache is still neat and precise.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>at the next hotel bar - this one busier and louder, with blue and purple gels over all the lights - cedric keeps drinking fruity shit while alston switches over to vodka tonics. they have to lean over the table to hear each other, so close that their cheeks nearly touch as one yells in the other’s ear. for awhile they sit together looking silently at the people around them. cedric tries to imagine what their lives are like. what they do with their days, their jobs. what occupies their minds if not blaseball (or desperate attempts to forget it briefly). are any of them players in other leagues, here between their own games? will any of them end up on the dale someday?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>a couple tables over, a woman in a tight glittering dress blows one or both of them a kiss. cedric winks back strictly out of habit (her diamond jewelry looks real). alston says, “are my eyes red? i feel like my eyes are really red.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>the bar is so dark that cedric can barely read the little card on the table with the drink specials. he leans forward, holding his own eyes as wide open as he can, to inspect alston’s. their foreheads touch so gently that the skulls beneath do not collide. alston’s eyes are so dark that they are indistinguishable from the pupils. there are perhaps the faintest traces of red veins in the whites of his eyes, but that isn’t where cedric focuses. neither of them blinks. his mouth is suddenly dry and foul-tasting; he doesn’t breathe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>someone passing their table bumps the edge, and cedric jumps backwards, catching his mostly-full glass against his body and splashing neon pink booze down his front. “ah, <em>shit</em> - “ there are only two tiny paper cocktail napkins on the table; he scrubs them against the bottom of his shirt ineffectually until they disintegrate. alston disappears and returns with a stack of the same flimsy napkins (as well as a new drink for himself). he offers to help but cedric waves him off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“it’s no good, man, i’m fuckin soaked. i think i’m officially too trashy for this place now. i should bounce anyway, it’s kind of a long ride back to the hotel.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“hang on.” alston reaches out as if to grab his wrist, then changes his mind. “better idea. the one i’m staying at is closer, and i’ve got plenty of space. crash at mine and help me empty out the minibar?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“like you need help,” cedric snorts. “but fine, you twisted my arm about it.” he’s getting sleepy - it’s something about the heat and being crossfaded - and he very much likes the idea of passing out sooner than later.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>in the backseat of the car on their way back to the hotel, alston leans over and whispers much more loudly than he probably intends, “you never told me if my eyes are red.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“you’re fine, dude.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“okay,” he stage-whispers. “sorry! i’m not normally this paranoid!” it takes a full ten seconds of cedric staring at him in blank-faced confusion before he realizes how inaccurate this statement is and begins laughing hysterically. cedric hadn’t thought it was that funny, but alston laughing sets him off, and somehow the knowledge that they’re both being assholes to the poor driver makes him laugh even harder, which makes <em>alston</em> laugh harder, until both of them have tears streaming from their eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>cedric’s face still hurts from laughing as they stumble through the elegant lobby. in the elevator, alston waves his keycard at a panel and hits the button for the top floor. when the elevator doors open to reveal a sprawling room, its centerpiece a massive sectional, cedric responds the only way he possibly can: he cracks up laughing again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“you’re in a fucking <em>penthouse</em>?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston shrugs. “there was a little trouble, they upgraded me for the inconvenience.” he’s already crossed the room to the minibar and begun pouring himself a vodka and soda.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>cedric kicks his flip-flops off just inside the room. the carpet is thick and lush between his toes. the suite, as far as he can see, is done up in light neutrals - beige, taupe, oatmeal - making alston seem more vibrant than anything else in the room. his shirt is wrinkled from the night out, but wrinkled like how an artist might place a cloth’s folds and shadows precisely for a particular effect. cedric is suddenly, acutely aware of the way he smells: sweat, weed smoke, sweet liquors.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“i’m, uh, gonna go take a shower and crash out.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston lifts his glass in a toast. “whatever your heart desires, my friend. seriously, make yourself comfortable. oh, also - “ he points at one of the closed doors - “that’s the nicest shower, i’d recommend that one.” then he retreats through a different door behind him, glass in one hand and a mini-bottle in the other.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>as cedric walks towards the bathroom, he catches a glimpse of movement from one corner of his eye; he nearly screams before realizing it’s just the ferret, curled up on a couch cushion and twitching in its sleep. he pauses to scratch with one fingertip behind the creature’s tiny ears. its fur is sleek and soft. he doesn’t really know how alston manages to take care of the thing - not like he’s ever seen alston feed it or bathe it or walk it, or whatever the fuck you do with a ferret - but it seems healthy and happy enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>the shower is indeed magnificent - one of those complex chrome setups with five different knobs and no labels on any of them. cedric strips out of his dirty clothes and steps into the glass stall. the first knob he turns sprays water at his stomach. the second does nothing. the third dumps cold water straight onto his head; the fourth does nothing again; the fifth makes cold water shoot out of a handheld sprayer mounted to the wall. finally, after a lot of cursing and fiddling, he manages to get warm water coming out of the overhead bit. at that point he risks hitting one of the buttons on the mysterious little display attached to the wall, and is rewarded by hot steam rushing out from a hidden vent near the floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>he spends an indeterminately long amount of time in there, eyes closed, letting the heat melt into the deepest most knotted parts of his body. abstract patterns play across the inside of his eyelids. the little paper-wrapped soap smells of citrus and ginger. he uses most of it up scrubbing himself clean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>it feels like a shame to put the same gross boxers back on his clean body, but he makes up for it by wrapping himself in a thick white robe. in the mirror, fogged over, he almost looks like a guy who could belong here. like the stubble on his jaw is purposeful, sexy, instead of the result of being too lazy to shave.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>he’s refreshed by the shower and wide awake again. he wanders back out into the main room; through another doorway, he can see a dining table for eight, set with multiple forks and spoons at each place. he opens the minibar and pokes through the selection - alston’s already cleared most of the liquor, so he grabs a tiny bottle of champagne and a coffee mug. he’s about to settle down on the immense couch when, through yet another doorway, he catches sight of a sliding glass door. <em>bingo</em>. he retrieves his rolling kit from his shorts pocket, slips it into the deep plush pocket of the robe, and makes his way out onto the balcony as quietly as possible.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>he settles into a cushioned wicker sofa and pops the champagne with a little whistle. he isn’t sure what he’s celebrating. it feels like a special occasion just being here - is this what alston’s life is like all the time? is that how he’s so carefree while everything collapses around them in dozens of ways? which, not to say that cedric is the most tuned in to the miseries around them - but it seems less fair, somehow, to take the escapist route when this is where you get to escape to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>he alternates between joint hits and little sips of champagne from the mug, enjoying how the bubbles tickle the inside of his mouth. he can see the ocean from here. he watches the waves until their pattern ceases to represent the physical water and becomes something more abstract. the air is so humid that it feels like a thick sheet of moisture has been laid across him; if he could break through it, he imagines, there is cool dry air just on the other side. he unties the robe and shrugs it off. already he can smell his own body sweating, growing filthy again. he finishes the champagne and gets another bottle from inside.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>he’s most of the way through the next bottle and getting tired again when the balcony door opens with a click and alston stumbles out. “<em>there</em> you are!” his voice isn’t particularly slurred, but he takes a step forward and just completely whiffs it, like he somehow totally misses the floor and sends himself sprawling over the arm of the sofa, one arm nearly knocking over the coffee table and cedric’s mug of champagne.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“whoa, whoa - “</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“sorry!” alston flails around for a moment in an effort to right himself. cedric holds his burning joint out of the way and chuckles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“doing okay there?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“yeah, yeah.” alston’s moustache is still neat as a pin, but his curly hair is lopsided like he’s slept on part of it funny. he’s barefoot and missing his blazer, his shirt untucked. “just thought you ran off.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“nah, that’s your move.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“usually.” he has the sort of hazy look in his eyes that he gets when he’s really drunk. “not tonight.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“it’s a nice place,” cedric agrees, looking back out at the waves and settling into the corner of the sofa. “wouldn’t be in a hurry to leave myself.” he ashes the joint into a potted plant.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>they sit quietly for awhile. alston’s eyelids begin to slip down over his eyes; cedric listens to the white noise of the tide moving in. he watches alston’s chest rise and fall beneath his white shirt. the champagne is gone; his mouth begins to feel sour and sandpaper-y, but he can’t bring himself to stand up and go back inside for water. the moon is so close he could pull it down with one hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston’s eyes open again and focus in on his face. cedric tries to look away and finds himself looking at alston’s mouth instead. he barely has time to think, <em>ah, shit </em>as alston suddenly leans (nearly falls) forward, balancing with one knee on the sofa and one foot on the ground, and bends down to kiss him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston’s mouth is soft, his neck tense beneath cedric’s hand; the heat radiating from his wiry body is distinct from the heat of the air. even this close up, he doesn’t smell of alcohol, although cedric thinks he can taste a lingering bite of vodka. the sound of the waves recedes and all he can hear is the rasping of their uneven breathing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>the foul taste of his own breath pulls him back to reality. he pushes alston back gently and looks away. “you’re really fuckin drunk, man.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“oh, please.” alston‘s laugh has the faintest edge of bitterness. “if no one could kiss me while i’m drunk, i’d never get to kiss anyone again.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“no, i didn’t mean...” cedric shakes his head to try and knock the haziness out. he scratches his arm with his chewed-up fingernails. he stares at the ashes he’s accidentally ground into the beige cushions; his skin feels slippery with sweat. “i know you’re a grown-ass adult, you can make your own choices. that, uh... wasn’t what i was worried about.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston raises his eyebrows, perhaps more dramatically than he intended. “what’s <em>that</em> supposed to mean?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“just saying, i... wouldn’t encourage anyone to get involved in this mess, let alone a drunk person.” cedric laughs as he gestures to himself; alston doesn’t.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“i’ll do it again in the morning if that’s what it takes to convince you i’m serious.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>cedric tries to tell himself it’s the heat and how fucked up he is right now that makes him flush. “i’m not - c’mon, man, you should go to sleep. you’re gonna be hurting enough in the morning as it is.” (they both know alston will not, in fact, be hurting in the morning - he has a superhuman ability to resist hangovers despite being out of his twenties - but cedric is really talking just to say something right now.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p>alston shrugs and rises to his feet. “tell you what. i’m mixing another drink, and then we’ll continue this discussion.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“it’s not a - “ cedric is cut off as alston wraps one hand into his hair and yanks him forward; this time, it’s more bite than kiss. he can’t even pretend to himself that the way his head spins is about anything else. he watches alston walk back inside, touching his own bottom lip with his resin-stained fingertips, feeling the world move dizzily around him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>after a long time, way too long to pour a drink, cedric stands and heads back in himself. he finds alston passed out across one side of the massive couch, the ferret now curled up on his ankles. cedric looks around at the lowlit room. its polished wood surfaces gleam. he finds one wood panel that opens to reveal a closet full of blankets and extra sheets; he tucks one gently over alston before walking into a bedroom.</p>
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  <p>the bed is massive and soft as a cloud. cedric lies on his back in the dark, sinking into the mattress, sucking on one of the mints he stole earlier. in the morning he might feel different. he’s pretty sure alston will, and he doesn’t blame him for it.</p>
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  <p>but for right now, even if cedric’s a gross burnout, he’s a gross burnout in a penthouse suite drunk off champagne. his hot teammate just kissed him; the morning is a million miles away. he falls asleep believing, at least for the moment, that he doesn’t not deserve to be this comfortable.</p>
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